


Ravish Me Red

by darkmagicalgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Erotic Budget Negotiations, F/F, Messy Lesbians, Mouthy Lesbians, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagicalgirl/pseuds/darkmagicalgirl
Summary: Professor Parkinson submits her budget proposal to Headmistress Granger and they discuss it in a mature fashion.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ethereally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/gifts).



> Happy New Year!!! I hope you have a great one filled with messy lesbians

Pansy is redoing her lipstick when Hermione slams open the door to the Divination classroom. Her desk — ebony, silver inlays, very chic — rattles on the flooring and her crystal ball — charmed to stay floating _and_ show personality, cutting edge and with the price tag to match — goes pink and cloudy with alarm, but Pansy's hand stays steady as she curls the red around her lips.

"You cannot be _serious_ about this," Hermione snaps, slamming a paper down on top of Pansy's magazine.

"You're so beautiful when you're angry, darling," Pansy says as she looks up. She waves a hand at Hermione's knuckles braced on the edge of her desk, the way her hair is especially frizzled with fury, how she looks like she could just tear off Pansy's smile with her teeth. It's _gorgeous_. "It's all very... angered housecat."

"This isn't funny, _Professor Parkinson_ ," Hermione says in the voice when she only uses when she is trying very hard to stay professional and not sock someone in the jaw. "The Hogwarts budget is a very serious matter that decides the tenor of student's _lives_. It's not a time for one of your— your—"

Pansy decides to rescue her. "Who said I was trying to be funny?" she asks, widening her eyes in her most ridiculously innocent expression. "My students need supplies too, dearest. You wouldn't want their education to _suffer_ , would you?"

"You renovated the Divination classroom only seven years ago," Hermione grits out, leaning forward over her fists. "It does _not_ need to be renovated again."

Pansy wags a finger. "I am going to pretend I didn't hear you say that," she announces with as much grandeur as she can, an amount not inconsiderable. "Firstly, must I really remind you that the first renovation was your idea? I believe I recall something about clearing out 'that musty old tower of the smell of frauds,' wasn't it"

"That was—"

"And secondly, to hear you, the great Hermione Granger, whom I know received a N.E.W.T. in Ancient Runes, discounting the importance of the number seven? In Divination? Have you even cracked open that book I got you on heptomology?"

"What on earth is supposed to be wrong with the room now?" Hermione asks. "I've let you decorate it with all sorts of... _indulgences_ , it's practically not even a proper classroom anymore."

"A little comfort goes a long way, sweetness," Pansy says, getting up from her desk with a swish of her robes. "It's can be an alarming subject for impressionable children. It's not like learning to fly a broomstick or wave a wand correctly. If they have a drop of true Seer talent—"

Hermione snorts. "Unlikely."

"If they do, it needs to be teased out," Pansy continues smoothly. " _Gently_ , in a way that allows their true talents to bloom to the surface—"

"I agreed to let Divination stay on as a subject here only if it were treated with academic discipline, not superstitious fluffery."

"And how would you know the difference?" Pansy asked, raising her brows. "Have you ever completed a Divination course, hm?"

"I don't need to have taken a Divination course to know that," she pauses to grab the paper she'd slammed down early, scanning until she found what she was looking for, "That you can't possibly need two crates of crushed Faerie Breath leaves and blossoms harvested under the new moon and grown only by those with Veela heritage?"

"What else am I supposed to use to make the tea for my seventh years to attempt true tasseography with?" Pansy shakes her head as she leans prettily against the front edge of her desk, leaning in as if to peek at the paper in Hermione's hands. 

"It's sixty galleons per kilogram!" 

"It's been documented that over eighty percent of tasseography attempts that could be conclusively proven predictive occurred with Faerie's Breath tea," Pansy says and flutters her eyelashes. "Didn't you ask me to take a more academic approach to the class?"

"I didn't ask you to _bankrupt the school_ ," Hermione snaps. "You aren't the only one who has students, you realize! We need plants for the Herbology students, new telescopes for Astronomy, a nearly complete restock of all the potion supplies, not to even mention the base materials for the Transfigurations."

"And do all those professors get this same lecture?" Pansy asks as she leans forward so that her cleavage is directly in Hermione's eye line.

"No," Hermione tells said cleavage. "Because none of _those_ professors are likely to have put ridiculous things on their budget requests just to get a rise out of me."

"Oh, you do have me there," Pansy admits easily enough and tips herself back so that she's more artfully draped over the desk. "But you do realize you can't just reject all my requests completely, don't you?"

Hermione knows Pansy well enough to look wary at the sudden shift. "Yes," she says. "So why don't you—"

"Luckily for both of us, I have a solution." Pansy smirks and bites her lip, canine digging into the reddened flesh. "It's quite a creative one, too. I think you'll approve."

Hermione's eyes narrow, though she does spare a glance for the line Pansy's body is making over the desk. "Is that so?" she asks carefully.

"I propose that we play a little game," Pansy says. "A battle of wills, you could call it."

Hermiones eyes gleam and Pansy knows she's caught her. "Explain."

—

"—handwoven by Belgian merfolk, at an extra thirty sickles for each individual worker, totaling to thirty galleons per meter." Hermione shakes her head, trailing a hand over the still stinging curve of Pansy's bared ass. Her touch is gentle, for now, but against the pain-heated skin that gentleness feels more like a taunt than a comfort.

Pansy licks her lips and presses the burning side of her face against the cool of the desk. "It's known for its power-amplifying abilities," she tries, keeping her voice as steady as she can manage despite the panting rhythm to her breathing. "When put around a crystal ball..."

"Really?" Hermione asks. All traces of her earlier anger have faded away, leaving her voice thick with amusement and just the edge of heat. "You're sticking with that argument for this one, really?"

Pansy hides a groan against the wood of her desk and looks over her shoulder with a carefully sharpened grin. "Do your worst, Headmistress," she purrs.

The sudden clap of sound and resulting burst of pain-mixed heat catches her off guard, Hermione having used her second hand instead of drawing the first away, and she can't hold back the way her eyes go wide and the yelp of startled reaction that turns into an obvious moan by the end.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" Hermione asks, sounding only mildly interested by the situation. Her nails scrape down against the spot she just hit. "I wouldn't want to ask too much of you, after all."

Pansy grits her teeth and shakes her ass. "Come _on_ , Hermione, don't _tease_."

"That'll be three strikes per meter, then," Hermione says. "Don't forget to keep count."

"Like I'd bloody for— _Ah_! One!" Pansy's voice jumps an octave when the first hit lands, much harder than the almost-playful tap she'd just been given. She doesn't have time to gather her wits before there's a second strike, neatly parallel to the first on her other cheek. "Two," she gets out just before the third comes, right over top the first. "Three!"

"That's one meter," Hermione reminds her sweetly. "You still sure about wanting that fabric?"

"Yes I- _Fuck!_ Four!" Her blood is starting to sing with it, each strike fanning the tension racing through her even stronger. Her whole body is starting to get to that liquid heat phase of desire, sending her limp against the support of the desk under her with not even the concern of creasing her bunched up robes enough to keep her from it. She can feel herself twitching, body hungry for sensation, but Hermione had positioned her very carefully, so that there's no chance of accidental brush against where Pansy wants it. If she could press her legs together, she's sure she could— but Hermione would hardly fail to notice that.

"Th-thirty, shit, okay, enough, shit." She hides her face in the pillow of her arms, struggling to find her breath even as Hermione instantly stops, going back to gently rubbing at the skin of Pansy's thighs.

"That's ten meters," Hermione says. "I'm impressed."

"Just looking out for my — aah, fuck — my students."

"Mm," Hermione hums noncommittally , trailing a finger up to the start of Pansy's ass and dragging at the swollen skin. "You always start to swear more when you're getting desperate, you know."

"Hermione—" Pansy begins but cuts herself off with a whine when Hermione's finger separates separates her inner lips and sliding forward, brushing with horribly teasing lightness right against her clit.

"So wet and sensitive," Hermione says, pulling her finger back with no care for how Pansy's hips are bucking forward in a plea for more. She leans over Pansy until she's bent over her, her robes sliding over Pansy's oversensitive skin in a rush of sensation that overwhelms her for a good minute before she can focus on the finger hovering before her mouth. "I want you to taste how wet you are," Hermione tells her and presses her finger in against Pansy's lips.

Pansy sucks it in eagerly, licking around it to capture every shock of the almost sharp taste of herself against the salt of Hermione's skin. This close, she can feel Hermione's answering shudder. She smiles around her mouthful and arches herself up off the desk to rub her aching ass against Hermione, earning herself a hiss and a swat.

"Behave," Hermione says, like that's every worked, and draws back. "Merlin, you're so _needy_."

"You love it," Pansy accuses. "Come on, Hermione, don't you want to see how big a mess I make myself over you?"

" _Merlin_ ," Hermione says again and grabs Pansy's shoulder to pull her up and around. She's only on her shaking feet for a second before Hermione is pushing her down, undoing her robes one handed. "Show me, then."

Pansy grins and leans in, helping Hermione get the rest of her robes open and out of the way so she can press a reddened kiss mark against her thigh. Hermione hisses — she never has patience to be teased herself, though Merlin knows she loves to dish it out — and gets a handful of Pansy's hair at the back of her neck to tug her in.

She goes happily, burying her face between Hermione's thighs and taking a greedy inhale of the smell of her. Hermione's clit is swollen with arousal already, peeking out of its hood and just begging for Pansy to wrap her lips around it and give it a good suck.

Hermione yelps, hips jumping forward, but Pansy just leans back with the motion and keeps up the steady pressure, only pausing to flick her tongue against it arrhythmically. Hermione shudders in her grasp and Pansy works a hand down between her legs to get her index and middle finger inside herself, curling to hit the spot that makes her mouth come open on a whine.

"Don't stop," Hermione says, hand tightening to the point of pain, just how Pansy likes it, and providing the perfect incentive to keep going. Her taste is coming stronger, her hips starting to make tell-tale little jolts, but it's not until Pansy uses the flat of her tongue to take a broad lick all across her before sucking hard once more on her clit that Hermione groans something low and vicious as she falls to pieces, muscles clenching around Pansy's face.

Pansy leans back with satisfaction writ broad across her expression. She's sure she looks quite the mess, lipstick smeared across her mouth and Hermione's thighs and the desk, skin flushed on her face nearly as much as her smarting ass, tears and spit streaking her cheeks, and feeling absolutely smug about it.

Hermione just growls and drags her up into a messy kiss as if she's trying to suck the last of the red from Pansy's mouth. She pushes Pansy's hands aside and presses her back against the desk so it digs into her sore flesh while she twists three fingers up and into Pansy, her thumb pressed harsh against her clit.

Pansy comes with a bitten off wail, grabbing at Hermione's shoulders to steady herself. She buries her head in Hermione's neck through the after shocks that feel like they could last an hour, her whole body contracting through wave after wave of rolling pleasure that rocks her off her feet to trust her balance to Hermione's steadying force.

"Fuck," she says when she finally has her breathe back, speaking into Hermione's collar bone.

"You could have just asked," Hermione says. 

"But it's so much more fun when you have an _actual_ reason to be angry, darling," Pansy says, leaning back and stretching with immense gratification at all the spots of soreness she fines. "Oh, I won't be able to sit down much tomorrow."

"You don't need to sound so smug about it," Hermione says, a smile pulling at her lips.

"Don't I?" Pansy says and flutters her lashes. 

Hermione just rolls her eyes. "Was anything on that list even for real?"

"The tea is, and I want it," Pansy says immediately. "It's supposed to be amazing for Seeing. I'll chip in half the price, if I need to."

"You're ridiculous." Hermione says and sighs. "God, work out a budget proposal— a real one, mind— and I'll take a look at it."

"You're the best, love," Pansy says with an exaggerated kissing motion. Hermione just laughs and leans in to kiss her for real.

Her mouth tastes warm and sweet.


End file.
